In Sleep a King
by Nancy Brown
Summary: Halcyon Renard's life changes forever when he meets a woman named Anastasia. Companion piece to Hysteresis


In Sleep a King  
by Nancy Brown (nancy@tooloud.northco.net)  
copyright 1998, 2001  
PG-13  
  
The characters belong to Disney/Buena Vista. No infringement on  
their rights in intended or should be inferred. The rest of this  
story belongs to me. Do with it as you please, but keep my name  
attached.  
  
For my daughters; learn the lesson well. Surely some revelation is  
at hand.  
  
***  
  
  
He sat cross-legged by a still pool, staring into its mirrored  
surface as if it held the secret of life. If that were the case,  
life held no secrets. All he saw were columns, white fingers  
surrounding him, holding up he inverted teacup of marble dome above  
his head. He saw his own reflection inside the prison of the   
columns, saw the gaudy finery of his tunic and hose, for some reason   
could not make out the features of his own face. His innate curiosity   
compelled him to look closer into the water.  
  
The pool shivered, like some pixie had stooped to touch her  
own echoed face and had accidentally broken its glassy stillness.   
His form and the columns wavered crazily before vanishing from sight.  
  
He saw a goddess. Her hair was long and straight, the color  
of the clouds at daybreak. Her green eyes glittered like a cat's,  
but with far more cunning. There was a hungry smile at her sharp  
lips. She stared at him, and he stared back, transfixed, not  
breathing. She reached towards him, towards the surface of the  
water, and only as he noticed this did he also notice that her skin  
was the color of the sea.  
  
He had to reach her. He held out his hand towards the water  
as she beckoned him from beneath it. His fingers brushed the  
surface, and as they touched against hers, he felt warmth tingling  
from his hands through his body to the tips of his toes.  
  
The pool's surface shattered, and she was gone.  
  
  
  
His eyes opened to darkness. Always a light sleeper, he felt  
no transition from sleep to instant wakefulness. His clock ticked  
to itself beside the bed; four am. It was too early to rise, too  
late to expect anything but a fitful nap until the alarm went off  
at five. He pulled the blanket closer around him, sweat-chilled in  
the early morning air.  
  
Perhaps twice in his life had he dreamed that dream, of that  
same woman. Once, they had reposed together on grass softer than   
silk, naked and unselfconscious of the fact. There had been water,   
and moonlight, and Her. The other dream had come when he had been a  
boy, just twelve years old, and he could not help but recall it  
with a certain sense of shame.  
  
From that first night, he'd searched for her everywhere, found  
some fragment of her reflection in almost every woman he'd ever  
met. He took small comfort from that, for he was thirty-one years  
old and he'd seen no trace of her in the daylight world.  
  
The first woman he'd been with had eyes like Hers, or so he'd  
thought. Peg had been seventeen, the same as he, and he had  
deluded himself into thinking she could be the woman who had  
haunted his dreams each night. Peg ... He hadn't thought of her  
in ages, felt a passing guilt for thinking of her now. But the  
dark hours of the morning were the best time for considering old  
lovers, were any time truly right.  
  
As if in response to his mental infidelity, the woman beside  
him turned in her sleep. She reached out a blind hand until she  
felt him, then became still again. He listened to the rhythm of  
her breath settling back into the ease of her own deep dreams. Of  
the four women he'd taken to his bed since Peg, the one with him  
tonight was the first in whom he *hadn't* seen some aspect of his  
dream-woman. He watched her as she slept, as he had more than once  
in the months they had been lovers.  
  
She would have been a beauty were her face not quite as thin,  
her eyes not so sad. He had taken to her the first time he'd seen  
her, wanting to defend her from that internal sorrow she carried.   
As they had grown closer, he'd tried to penetrate the cool armor of  
her reserve and discover the fire within her. She remained closed,  
aloof. Even when they made love, she held herself apart from him,  
never losing herself to passion, almost automatic in her touches,  
calculating the maximum pleasure she could give him, barely smiling  
when he brought her to an edge of her own. He loved her, supposed  
she loved him in her own way, but there were times like this, in  
the depths of the night, when he admitted she demonstrated more   
outward affection for her houseplants.  
  
Still, she was intelligent, and on occasions so rare he  
savoured them for all their worth, she would make a deadpan remark,  
then smile, just enough, that he could not imagine a life without  
her. If only it happened more often ...  
  
He was going to ask her to marry him. She was a good match  
for him, intellectually. Only madmen sought women in their dreams.   
He had a good woman sleeping beside him, here and now.  
  
Satisfied with his decision, he rolled over, placed his arms  
around her. He would ask her over lunch tomorrow. No, dinner.   
That would give him a chance to pick out a ring beforehand. It  
would have to reflect her personality, something small and  
unassuming, something practical.  
  
"I love you, Julia," Halcyon whispered into her hair. She did  
not stir, and he settled into a dreamless half-sleep, awaiting morning.  
  
***  
  
*beep* *beep* *beep*  
  
Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to hit the top of the alarm,   
found that he could not move his arm. Must've slept wrong, he  
thought groggily, and opened his eyes. They were dry and achy, and  
refused to focus. The infuriating beeping continued.  
  
"Will someone turn that damned alarm off?" he growled. His  
voice came out as a gasp; his throat was raw. His eyes roamed  
around until they settled on a long thin tube taped to his arm. He  
traced the line with his sight, into an IV drip bag above his head.   
"Oh, damn."  
  
Now that he was awake, he could identify his whereabouts, and  
everything attached to him. A saline solution was dripping into  
his veins, as oxygen was fed to his mouth and nose through a mask, almost  
hiding the acrid smell of antiseptics. No wonder his throat hurt.  
Electrodes, indicating his vitals for all and sundry on machines to  
either side of him, were affixed to his chest with that disgusting  
adhesive. Just thinking about it made him wince in anticipatory agony for  
when the electrodes were removed.  
  
This wasn't the first time he'd woken up in the hospital. He  
was hoping it wouldn't be the last.  
  
His left arm was free. He used it to locate and press the  
call button. "Nurse?" he wheezed into the speaker. "Is someone  
there?"  
  
The speaker spat a tinny voice back to him. "Someone will be  
right down," a pause, "Mr. Renard."  
  
"Doctor," he mumbled to himself, knowing she wouldn't hear  
him. He turned his head towards the door.  
  
A bespeckled woman with short dark hair opened the door, and  
his mind, still partly caught in memory, thought "Julia!"  
  
Someone else came through the door. "Janine," he said,  
ignoring the woman who was not Julia. "Where is Mr. Vogel?"  
  
Janine stopped, then continued walking to his bedside. "He's  
back at the Tower running your business. How do you feel, Daddy?"  
  
"Terrible. What happened?"  
  
"According to Mr. Vogel," said the other woman, "you fainted  
in the middle of dinner." He closed his eyes in embarrassment.  
  
"He called me on the way to the hospital," said Janine.   
"We've both been here all night." She took his hand, wrapped her  
fingers in his, an unusually affectionate gesture.  
  
"Thank you," he said simply. He turned to the unfamiliar  
woman. "Who are you? You're not my regular doctor."  
  
"This is Dr. Howard," his daughter said. "She's my and  
David's personal physician." The woman smiled pleasantly at him.  
  
"Where's Dr. Tribbut?" Len Tribbut had been the least  
objectionable of the parade of doctors in his life these past  
several years. The man had a sharp mind, and knew keeping secrets  
from his patient was the best way to get fired.  
  
Janine shifted her hands. "Dr. Tribbut isn't handling your  
case anymore."  
  
"Janine ... "  
  
"David and I want you to move in with us at the castle." She  
said it quickly, firing through the words, then sat back, fear on  
her beautiful face.  
  
"No."  
  
"Daddy, I think it would be for the best. We have plenty of  
room, and we can provide state-of-the-art care for you."  
  
"I don't need to be taken care of. What I do need is to  
continue my work. In *my* lab." Her eyes shifted. He regretted  
his barb, but the fact remained that Xanatos Enterprises was in  
direct competition with Cyberbiotics. He wasn't about to let  
anyone, even his own daughter, steal corporate secrets from him.   
Never mind that the business was going to Alexander, would  
eventually become part of XE; he had over a thousand employees  
counting on him to keep the company afloat in its own right.  
  
"Your work can wait. You deserve some rest. When you're back  
on your feet, you can go back to work. Until then, you should stay  
with us."  
  
There was no deception in her eyes. His heart ached for her,  
both the little girl she used to be, and the woman she was still  
becoming. She honestly believed, had made herself believe, that he  
was going to recover eventually. She didn't understand this was  
how things were going to be, nor that if he lived another three  
years, it would be a miracle. He'd felt the coolness of death on  
him since he'd lost the last sensations in his legs. When the dark  
claimed him, the blow would strike his daughter hard.  
  
"No," he repeated. He turned from her. "What does Vogel  
think?"  
  
She made a noise. "That you should stay on Fortress 2,  
rattling around alone up there with him. Away from medical care.   
If something happened to you ... "  
  
"He would deal with it. That was why I hired him in the first  
place."  
  
"I don't trust him."  
  
"I do." He turned back to her, adjusted his hand so that he  
was holding hers the way he had when she'd been tiny. "I  
appreciate what you're trying to do. But I intend to stay in  
Fortress 2 until I physically can't. After that, I'll probably  
live in the Tower." You're doing it again, he chided himself.   
You're encouraging her to think you're going to live longer than  
you will. The only way they're taking you out of Fortress 2 is in  
a casket.  
  
"We'll talk about it later," she conceded. It wasn't a  
surrender, merely a withdrawal. She would bring it up again in  
every conversation, and he would have to be firm in his rejection  
of the offer. As much as he might want to be near her and  
Alexander, he had to finish his work, at least take it to a point  
where someone else could pick it up and complete it. He was so  
close and he had so little time.  
  
***  
  
"Dr Renard?"  
  
Halcyon's head shot up from his desk. A notebook he'd been  
holding precariously in his sleep fell to the floor with a sharp  
*thwap*. He rubbed his face with both hands, smoothing his hair as  
he did so. This wasn't his first catnap at his desk, but it was  
the first time his secretary had caught him at it. The undisguised  
smirk on her face told him she'd be mentioning it later around the  
lab.  
  
"Yes, Gladys, what is it?"  
  
"The applicants for Dr. Kleinspehn's job are here."  
  
"How many are there?"  
  
"Five. Six more have appointments later this afternoon."  
  
He sighed. Interviews were the second worst thing about  
running his own company. Paperwork was the first. He loved  
Cyberbiotics. He loved the work, the ability to do research  
without having to answer to anything but his own conscience. In  
the three years since its birth, however, he'd come to see the cost  
of running it as almost not worth the hassle. Fair lot of good it   
did him to have his own lab if he spent all day filing tax reports   
and interviewing aspiring new scientists to take his place.  
  
"Send them in."  
  
The first applicant was a young postdoc from Hopkins. His  
credentials were impressive. He'd worked with the National Cancer  
Institute in Bethesda for two years doing his graduate program, had  
already published eight papers, three as sole author. His  
recommendations were solid, from some of the best in the field.   
He'd spent three undergraduate summers volunteering time at a camp  
for children with polio.  
  
The interview was less than stellar. The man was very  
nervous, and could only explain in the sketchiest terms why he  
wanted to join Cyberbiotics. His hair was a little unkempt, his  
clothes rumpled. In short, he looked like a scientist. Halcyon  
counted his blessings, and privately considered the man already  
hired as he shook his hand and watched him leave.  
  
He glanced half-heartedly at the pile of resumes still on his  
desk. He really didn't want to go through all these people,  
especially since he'd already decided who was to get the job.   
Perhaps he'd just finish the first five, then tell Gladys to tell  
the rest to go home.  
  
There was a knock on the door. "Come in," he said, not really  
paying attention.  
  
"Hello, I'm here about the biochemist position."  
  
You and everyone else, he thought glumly, and glanced up at  
her.  
  
In later years, he would be able to recall nothing of the  
interview. Her curriculum vitae would be lost within a few days  
and he would never ask for another copy. If he did, he'd have to  
admit to her that he could not remember one word of it. There were  
schools listed, yes, good ones, but if he were ever asked which,  
he'd hem and haw and look for something else to do. She had  
papers, a number of them, and times would come when he was  
researching the literature and discover her name, and feel  
embarrassed that he did not know she'd been there. His memories of  
his first sight of her began and ended in her sea green eyes.  
  
When she drifted out of the room, he called Gladys in and  
canceled the rest of the interviews, informing her that Dr.  
Anastasia Lisle would be joining the staff on Monday.  
  
He ignored her smirk as she went to get the forms ready.  
  
  
  
Because of the interviews, and because he thought better at  
night, he stayed at the lab much later than he'd first thought he  
would. Only when Julia left at seven did he feel belated guilt at  
not having gone to the jeweler that afternoon. The guilt was  
doubled; he'd been thinking about Dr. Lisle the entire day. That  
also hadn't helped his productivity.  
  
This was not a good time to be unproductive.  
  
The truth was, he really shouldn't have been hiring another  
Ph.D. at this point in time. The company had been barely afloat  
due to a handful of patents in his name, and could just support the  
current staff. Then George had gotten an offer from a small  
college, where he could be free to teach. It was a dream job for  
George, and Halcyon couldn't blame him for taking the chance while  
he had it. With his departure, Cyberbiotics was short a much-  
needed link to the biological world, right when they needed one  
most.  
  
The science of robotics was in many ways still in its infancy  
compared to other disciplines. There were a few large corporations  
dabbling in it as side research, soliciting government contracts  
for research into mindless, metallic soldiers programmed to kill  
without question. Even the pharmaceutical companies, whose primary  
goals were supposed to include the improvement and prolongation of  
life, dedicated a portion of their robotics research to artificial  
limbs designed as weapons. Their justification for this was that  
the research could then be used for more humane reasons.  
  
There had come a point. Halcyon had been told on which  
project to focus his energies, and he could not face the thought of  
causing someone's death, even by such a remote means. He'd  
resigned his position and founded his own company. His former  
employers hadn't taken kindly to this. He'd fought hard for  
projects, from NIH rather than the DoD, and lost every one.  
  
This current bid was almost to the eleventh hour; if he could  
demonstrate to the review board that Cyberbiotics was capable of  
the job, they had a good chance of finally netting a contract. The  
rise in tensions with the Soviets a few years back had never really  
calmed. People expected war, and weren't sure of when it would  
come, or on which terms. Would there be a sudden nuclear strike  
from one or both sides, wiping out civilization in a few hours, or  
would the combatant nations have the remaining sense to keep it  
ground-based, one army thrown upon another? If the former, they  
had no hope. The latter meant wounded men. There were men of his  
own age who'd lost limbs in Korea, fumbling through their lives  
with their motor controls not their own. Better prosthetics were  
needed, with better interfaces between artificial and biological.   
Cyberbiotics had been working on that problem since the day they'd  
opened their doors. Getting the contract meant they could work on  
the important things without worrying about losing their jobs in a week.  
  
The electronics were being capably handled by two engineers;  
the biological angle had been George Kleinspehn's responsibility,  
with some assistance from Julia. Now it would be Anastasia  
Lisle's. He had been out of her presence for hours, and now  
wondered if she would be up to the challenge. George had made  
headway, but he'd been flummoxed on the final execution. There  
*were* signals sent through the nerves to the muscles --- the  
problem was finding a neurological pulse that could be transformed  
into an electrical one.  
  
His own work was focused on that problem as well, but he  
needed to spend his time overseeing the business as a whole, not to  
mention the other projects in the wings. It would be ideal if they  
got this contract; his eyes were already on the next, and the one  
after that. He'd taken over George's work in the interim time, was  
making little progress on his own. He hoped his new employee could  
do better.  
  
He realized he wasn't going to accomplish anything else  
tonight, and the jewelry stores were probably closed. He didn't  
want to face Julia without a ring. He locked up and went back to  
his own apartment, trying not to think about contracts, or taxes,  
or marriage, as he settled down to sleep. It almost worked.  
  
***  
  
Vogel came to see him in the early afternoon. They went over  
the day's business, as much as Dr. Howard would allow. Renard had  
found out from a nurse that he was her only patient in the  
hospital. Like a hawk, she hovered outside the door the entire  
time his assistant was there, finally pouncing on him after the  
designated hour's stay and making him leave.  
  
The collapse was diagnosed as a combination of overwork,  
stress, and the gradual onslaught of his disease. He would be held  
overnight for observation, then released in the morning. To whose  
custody there remained a question.  
  
When Vogel returned at eight pm, he agreed with the decision  
to keep the new physician, much to Renard's annoyance. His  
assistant explained his reasoning to be twofold on the matter.   
First, Dr. Howard, while currently acting as General Practitioner  
and occasional emergency surgeon for the Xanatos extended family,  
had spent her residency exploring neurological disorders such as  
his. She had the potential for bringing a new perspective to his  
treatment, something he'd lacked since he'd chosen Len as his  
doctor. In addition, her presence would ease his daughter's  
worries, and if he agreed to continue seeing Dr. Howard, she might  
not press the issue of where he should live. Renard agreed with  
his logic, but chafed under the woman's presence nonetheless.  
  
Visiting hours ended again at nine. By eight-thirty, his mind  
had begun drifting, unable to make sense of what Vogel was telling  
him. He kept an ear open, but mostly watched him as he spoke,  
noted the abbreviated movements of his arms. There was no wasted  
motion in him, nor did he use an unnecessary word. He was  
efficiency incarnate, actively fighting against the natural entropy  
that surrounded him. Janine was the utter opposite: both liquid  
and fiery, like quicksilver, always in motion, and just as  
dangerous. Her existence had always been dedicated to waste, of  
time, of energy, of anything she could consume, and he had indulged  
her in it. What kind of a father did that to his own children?  
  
"Sir?" Vogel looked at him with concern. Had he spoken it  
aloud?  
  
"Nothing important," he said, waving his free arm. "I think  
I could use some rest."  
  
"Very well. I'll make the arrangements tonight to bring you  
home as soon as Dr. Howard releases you."  
  
"Do that. And make sure Janine knows I'm not doing this  
because I'm avoiding her. I'm doing this because I need to."  
  
Vogel nodded and stood. "Good night, sir."  
  
"Good night."  
  
Dr. Howard came in as Vogel left. She removed his IV,  
bandaged the puncture, informed him she would be there all night if  
he needed anything, and turned out the light as she left. He was  
alone in the darkness with his thoughts.  
  
As they often did, they turned to Anastasia.  
  
***  
  
The daylight found him rested and renewed. On a whim, he  
decided to take a morning stroll through the Park before he headed  
back into the lab. It was a Saturday; he could permit himself the  
indulgence of sunshine.  
  
The early Spring air was unusually warm, the good smell of  
thawed earth temporarily overpowering the city's more usual odors  
of exhaust and humanity. People walked their dogs along the  
pathways and on the wide lawns. He stopped to watch a couple with  
two children, wistful at the image. Someday, he'd bring his own  
children here to picnics. A boy and a girl, he thought, watching  
a pigtailed sprite dash off after her brother.  
  
The sunlight seemed to have brought everyone out. As he  
walked, he noted a few Negro faces among the white, and nodded his  
approval. He'd seen the insides of more than one body in his  
education, and he'd learned quickly what the people around him were  
still struggling to understand, that skin had the exact same  
function and significance of wrapping paper. He passed another  
young couple. The young lady was Negro, but her beau was a swarthy  
man, maybe Greek or Mexican. Seemed he wasn't the only one to  
think that way.  
  
"Dr. Renard?"  
  
He turned. Who on earth ... ?  
  
Anastasia Lisle, Ph.D., lounged on a towel spread over the new  
grass, her shoes off, holding a book. She smiled up at him, her  
eyes twinkling.  
  
"I thought it was you."  
  
"Dr. Lisle." He fumbled for words. "How nice to see you,"  
seemed forward. "Do you come here often?" sounded like a pick-up  
line. He settled for: "Lovely day." She nodded.  
  
He noticed her shirt's neckline, more modest than the style of  
the day, revealing only a hint of slim collarbone as she dipped her  
head. He could not help but notice she wore shorts, again just the  
right length to show off perfectly sculptured legs, which he hadn't  
even noticed the day before. The sunlight moved along her body  
like a hand, highlighting the vibrant strands of her dark hair with  
amber and honey. She stretched, moving easily from repose into  
readiness, still at rest, but easily enough shifted into flight.   
Whom is she running from, he wondered?   
  
Me, he thought. I've interrupted her reading, and she wants  
me to leave so she may go back to what she was doing.   
  
"I'll see you Monday," he said clumsily, and turned back to  
his path.   
  
"Leaving so soon?" Her voice was teasing. He looked back at  
her, saw the playful smile on her face.  
  
She scared me. And she knows it.  
  
"I should be getting to the lab."  
  
"I'll go with you, then. I should accustom myself to the  
facilities." The fluid motion of her body caught his breath as she  
went to her feet. He cursed himself for a schoolboy as she again  
noted his expression with open amusement.   
  
"You should enjoy the weather," he demurred. "It's a rare day  
to be this nice. Monday is soon enough to come in."   
  
"Nonsense. I've seen my share of spring days, and I'll  
certainly see more than this one." She was very near him now. Her  
perfume was sweet, indefinable, reminding him of cherry blossoms  
and summer nights.   
  
She scooped up her book and her towel, folding the two into a  
compact bundle which she managed to carry without any kind of  
awkwardness. They walked in silence in the general direction of  
the laboratory, as he grasped at something, anything to say.  
  
He noticed, angrily, that people were watching them and  
smiling, as if they were together, as if they were a couple. Just  
because a man and woman happened to be walking through the Park  
together ...   
  
"Have you been in New York long?" he asked.   
  
She turned her attention back to him. "Not really. I've been  
here before, but I don't usually stay." She didn't elaborate. He  
tried again.   
  
"You have friends here," he guessed. She didn't respond at  
first. They walked in silence past one of the small lakes dotting  
the park, and she smiled.  
  
"A few."  
  
  
  
No one else had decided to come in, and it being Saturday, he  
didn't blame them at all. Today he was glad of their absence.  
  
Dr. Lisle knew her way around a lab. George's equipment,  
which had seemed sufficient in his day, looked mean and crude when  
he showed it to her, the glassware out of some B-rated Frankenstein  
movie. His own workspace wasn't any better; the electronics which  
were literally the top of the line felt like toys under her  
critical glance.   
  
She asked to watch as he worked, to better familiarize herself  
with the problem, and he could find no easy way to tell her no.   
She pulled up a chair, and perched quietly for an hour, observing  
him intently.   
  
At the end of the hour, she asked one question, of rather  
basic electronics.   
  
After another half-hour, she asked another question, more  
complicated.   
  
Fifteen minutes passed. Dr. Lisle asked another question.   
He raised his head. "What did you say your degree was in?"   
  
"Biochemistry. I'm a fast learner."  
  
She asked no more questions after that. She waited another  
fifteen minutes, then disappeared into her own area, presumably to  
tidy up and put things to her liking.   
  
He listened for a few minutes, then, not hearing anything,  
ignored her existence completely and returned his attention to the  
task at hand. After a while, he assumed she'd left. Hours passed.  
  
When the clock in the lab read seven-thirty, he decided he'd  
had enough for one day. Also, he was hungry. He put his work  
aside, thought briefly about taking it with him, and left it  
anyway. He could always come in tomorrow.   
  
Tomorrow. Tomorrow was Sunday. The jewelry stores would be  
closed. Damn. If he left right then, he could possibly make it to  
Alcorn's before closing. The necessary energy to do so was  
lacking.   
  
He would go Monday.   
  
He turned off the light.   
  
"Excuse me," came a voice from the ghostly darkness. Dr.  
Lisle! Hurriedly, he turned the lights on again. She had moved  
into the lab proper, silhouetted in sudden brightness. "That's  
better."   
  
"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I thought you'd already left."   
  
She shook her head. "I've been busy. Would you like to see?"  
  
He followed her into her area. The equipment sparkled under  
the incandescent lights, humming quietly with life. He saw a  
notebook on her desk, already covered in neat, precise handwriting.   
Out of curiosity, he picked it up and read. He continued reading.   
Then he looked at her.   
  
"You'll need test subjects," he said simply.   
  
"I know."   
  
"I'd suggest starting with mice and guinea pigs. If it works,  
I can probably arrange an orangutan."   
  
"No."   
  
"What do you mean, 'no?' This is brilliant. We can start  
testing as soon as the animals arrive."   
  
"No animal test subjects."   
  
"But ... "   
  
"Give me time. I can find another way."   
  
He stared at her. Not even the first day on the job, and  
she'd come up with a protocol for effectively sampling signals from  
the nervous system. He didn't know if it would work for certain,  
but it was miles ahead of what he'd been expecting.   
  
"All right. You can have time. But if you can't, we need to  
go with this."   
  
She took the book from him gently. "You can do that, but I  
won't be a part of it."   
  
He didn't ask then, and soon, he would be in too deeply to  
hope to form the question properly, but he wondered sometimes  
afterwards, why did she write it down if she didn't want him to  
see?  
  
"Do you have any plans for dinner tonight?" she asked, as if  
the previous conversation had never been.  
  
His traitor mind thought of Julia, and reminded him that he  
had not promised to meet her this weekend. No, he thought, I'd  
just planned on asking her to marry me. Nothing major. "Not yet."  
  
"Then perhaps you'd be kind enough to join me." She watched  
him without expectation, unnerving him. The papers and magazines  
spoke of a new culture forming, with more women joining the  
workplace, and the redefinition of sexual roles. Halcyon generally  
skipped those articles, fleeing for the comforting familiarity of  
the back pages announcing tiny discoveries and corporate mergers.   
The notion of a woman asking *him* to dinner had frankly never  
crossed his mind.  
  
It was with surprise, then, that he answered, "I'd be  
delighted."  
  
  
  
  
The Brown Pelican, one of the city's nicer dives, wasn't far  
from the lab. Halcyon had gone there innumerable times with his  
employees for lunch or dinner. It gave him a chance to relate to  
them on equal ground. Once, he'd taken Julia there alone and she'd  
opened up to him. Their relationship had progressed quickly  
afterwards.  
  
He frowned as he slipped into the booth. The parallel was  
disturbing. He ignored the thought. He was here with Dr. Lisle because  
she was new in town and to the group. That was all.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"Fine, fine," he said. He didn't bother opening his menu; he  
knew what he was getting. She unfolded her own, reading through it  
as carefully as she might a journal article. The waitress took  
their drink orders, then disappeared.  
  
"What's good?"  
  
"The sandwiches. The pasta isn't bad, either." The dim light  
of the room cast her face into soft shadows.  
  
The waitress came back to take their order, a reuben for him,  
pastrami on rye for her. She sipped at her grasshopper. He  
swirled the ice in his scotch.  
  
"Would you like --- " he said.  
  
"This is --- " she said at the same time.  
  
He chuckled. "You first."  
  
"This is nice," she said. "I haven't really seen much of the  
city."  
  
"Your friends haven't taken you touring?" Already, he was  
considering Staten Island, Chinatown.  
  
"The last time I was in the city, it wasn't to sightsee." She  
took another sip.  
  
"Scientific convention?"  
  
She paused. "No. Funeral. An old friend." She smiled  
sadly. "I hadn't seen him in years, and suddenly, in one terrible  
moment he was gone, and I lost whatever chance I might have had to  
explain."  
  
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."  
  
"You didn't."  
  
Their food arrived. They continued to talk over their meal,  
idle chatter. She'd moved around a bit in her life, more than he  
would have expected. She described places he'd longed to see:  
Paris, Rome, even Nairobi. He tried to keep her attention by  
describing his other research interests, realized belatedly that he  
was probably boring her, then was surprised again when she  
mentioned she'd once had the opportunity to hear Einstein speak,  
which had been what had lit her onto her career. She never  
bragged; she simply stated what had been, narrating her adventures  
with fondness. At the same time, she pulled things from him like  
a weaver pulling thread. Without meaning to, he told her about his  
life, about being a child during the Depression, about Grandmama.   
She listened to him with neither scorn nor pity, simply acceptance  
of the tale, and interest, as though he'd told her the adventures  
of a knight in some far-off land. Never once had he doubted her  
candor. As the coffee had been cleared away, he found himself  
wondering what other depths had he not yet discovered in this  
marvelous woman.  
  
She allowed him to walk her home, as it was dark. She didn't  
invite him inside, nor had he expected an invitation. He remained  
on the steps of her apartment building for a while, watching the  
window he knew to be hers, until finally, common sense sent him  
home.  
  
  
  
  
He stepped into his office at seven-thirty Monday morning, intending  
to get a head start on the day's business. He'd spent the previous day  
here and still he was falling behind. It was his own fault; he'd spent  
most of the day listening for footsteps and the turning of a key in the  
door, rather than focusing on his work. He'd accomplished very little.  
  
Anastasia, as she insisted he call her during dinner, hadn't  
come. It was within her rights; that she'd come in Saturday had  
been no doubt just a means of impressing the boss. As he thought  
about it, he wondered if her dinner invitation was the same kind of  
ploy.  
  
No.  
  
Never once in his admittedly few conversations with her had  
she shown the slightest artifice or deceit. Her laugh, a warm  
pleasing sound, was genuine. No matter how unlikely a story she  
told, he believed her. He found her veracity refreshing; while  
Julia had never lied to him, he knew there were things she had not  
told him about her past. Anastasia had already shared large parts  
of her soul with him, and they had just met. At the same time, he  
had a completely unfounded but stirring suspicion that she would  
not open up for just anyone.  
  
This was mad. He was already involved. He had neither the  
time nor the right to even think about another woman. It made no  
sense to continue thinking of her, long after reaching home, nor to  
hear her dignified voice, accented with her travels, echoing  
beautiful laughter in his ears, nor to wonder how smooth the skin  
on her jaw would be if he placed his lips there.  
  
"Good morning, Doctor," said Julia. He blinked, clearing his  
vision. Julia stood before him primly, short dark hair pulled back  
from her face with bobby pins, unsmiling as always.  
  
"Julia ... I'm sorry I didn't call you. I was here most of  
the weekend."  
  
She didn't appear affected. She trusted him. Of course she  
trusted him. He'd done nothing wrong. "I went to see my parents."  
  
Her parents. Oh yes, her father had been ill. She'd told him  
that on Friday, hadn't she? He'd forgotten. He'd simply expected  
her to be at home, waiting for his call to come over, or to invite  
him, not once considering she might not be there.  
  
"How is your father?"  
  
"Recovering. Did you make any progress?"  
  
"I didn't, but Anastasia has already made remarkable headway  
on her work."  
  
She raised a delicate eyebrow. "Who?"  
  
He flushed. "Anastasia Lisle. She's George's replacement."  
  
"I see." Something in her tone suggested she saw *everything*  
that had wandered into his mind these past three days. "When will  
I meet her?"  
  
"This morning, as soon as she arrives." He wondered suddenly  
if this was a good idea. On an impulse, he bent to kiss her. She  
stepped away.  
  
"Not here." He pulled back. She was right. Their workplace  
was not an appropriate venue. They had decided that when they'd  
started dating, and he was too well aware of the remorse which had  
driven him to do it anyway. "I'll be in the lab."  
  
Halcyon returned his attention to the ever-growing stack of  
papers on his desk, and cursed the universe in general.  
  
At eight-fifteen, Gladys poked her head into the office. "Dr.  
Renard, Dr. Lisle is here. I'd like her to fill out some forms  
before she starts work."  
  
"Why are you telling me this?"  
  
"You need to sign them when she's done."  
  
"Then tell me when she's done," he said with very little  
patience. She was here. She would come into his office, and he  
would strike up a conversation with her before she left, and ...  
  
And this was not a good thing to be considering.  
  
Twenty minutes later, he heard a tap on the doorframe. Not  
really paying attention to the papers in front of him, he said,  
"Come in."  
  
What he had been expecting, he wasn't certain. Anastasia had  
foregone her shorts for sensible slacks and low-heeled shoes. Her  
mane of auburn hair had been tied back into a neat ponytail. She  
looked ready to work.  
  
"Good morning, Doctor," she said pleasantly. "Gladys tells me  
you need to sign these."  
  
He caught a waft of her perfume. "She told me the same thing.   
Did she happen to mention where?"  
  
"No." Her green eyes glittered, as if they'd just shared the  
wittiest of jokes. She handed him the form. Ah, yes. Taxes and  
payroll and all those lovely headaches he hadn't considered when  
he'd decided to form this company. He found a likely-looking  
dotted line and signed with a flourish.  
  
"Would you like to meet everyone?"  
  
"Yes. I would."  
  
He almost offered her his arm, then knew exactly how bad an  
idea that would be. Instead, he indicated the door, and followed  
her out. Delaying the inevitable, he introduced her to Ray and Max  
first, and noticed how taken they were with her. Jealously, he led  
her away to meet the other lab techs. And Julia.  
  
The moment the two women shook hands, he felt himself to be  
standing on a steep mountaintop, overlooking two possible destinies:  
small, mousy Julia, hiding behind her spectacles, needing his protection;  
sparkling Anastasia, undeniably attractive, filled with layers he'd  
barely imagined.  
  
This is nonsense, he thought. I barely know her.  
  
"It's good to meet you," said Julia.  
  
"Likewise," said Anastasia. "Dr. Renard has spoken highly of  
you. Are you as good as he says?"  
  
"Better." Julia went back to her work.  
  
  
  
He didn't make it to the jeweler on Monday.  
  
  
  
The two women worked well together. Anastasia continued to  
make progress on the research at a lightning pace; Julia remained  
beside her, providing assistance as needed. Halcyon stayed away  
from their part of the lab. It was safer. That night, he bought  
dinner for himself and Julia, then walked her home. He did not  
stay.  
  
Days went by in this fashion.  
  
Friday night came, and again, he walked her to her stoop. He  
reached over to kiss her, here where it was safe. She pulled away  
as she had in the office.  
  
"Don't."  
  
"What is it?" he asked, afraid of the answer.  
  
"You don't mean it."  
  
He took her shoulders. "Julia ... "  
  
"Halcyon, do you love me?" She looked at him askance,  
measuring his response like some reading on a meter.  
  
"What? Of course I do."  
  
"Don't do that. Don't answer so fast. Think about it. Then  
tell me." She tiptoed up and kissed his cheek, a light quick pat  
with only the slightest pressure. "I'm going to see my parents  
this weekend. Give me your answer Monday." He watched her as she  
moved up the few stairs, noticed the motion of her calf muscles  
beneath the prim hem of her skirt, the set of her shoulders, the  
way the streetlight leached the life from her hair and clothing.  
  
Not wanting to be alone in his home with these thoughts, he  
went back to the lab.  
  
~Do you love me?~ Her words lingered.  
  
The liquor, kept in his desk for the darkest of nights, burned  
his throat as it went down.  
  
"Of course I do," he repeated to the silent darkness. The  
sound was hollow.  
  
"I love you." He tried again.  
  
"You are my life." He attempted to form an image of Julia's  
face in his mind.  
  
His vision swam. Her skin was the color of the sea, her eyes  
the deepest green, and he knew that he would never love Julia as he  
did the woman from his dreams.  
  
"My Queen," he muttered, but did not remember later.  
  
***  
  
Halcyon woke and stared at the ceiling, wondering what had  
wakened him. He heard the steady beeps of the monitoring  
equipment, a familiar cadence. He heard the vague shufflings and  
murmurs that were a hospital late into the night shift. The doctor  
had retired somewhere for the evening, and no nurse had come in  
with a midnight dose of medication. Nothing should have bothered  
him, but something had.  
  
He made an effort to roll over to his side, found that the  
wires and tubes would just allow that motion.  
  
The pillow was damp.  
  
He used his free arm to brush at his eyes, discovered he had  
been weeping in his sleep. He hadn't cried since the divorce, when  
he'd received the finalized papers, held them in a hand trembling  
with drink and grief at what he'd lost.  
  
The last time he'd seen her had been that day Alexander had  
been born. She had still been young, still beautiful, still  
breathtaking. When she'd mentioned her remarriage, his heart had  
stopped. He had not looked at another woman in that way since the  
first moment she'd stepped into his office. He'd completely  
forgotten that she'd been married once, and it amazed him to think  
he could forget. Perhaps it had been part of the glamour surrounding her.  
  
His reading material of late had included much on the legends  
about the Third Race. He'd reread "Midsummer" until he could recite  
entire acts by heart. The name Tam Lin filled him with trepidation; he,  
too, had been seduced by the lure of the Fairy Queen.  
  
No, that was not fair to either of them. Whatever enchantment  
she had worn, he had chosen to accept it as truth.  
  
The years had drifted by. His encroaching disease, her waning  
interest, and their obsessive work habits had set them to gently diffuse  
away from each other until divorce was only another word for the marriage  
they no longer shared. Even then, when he took the time to look at her,  
he saw her as he had that first time, and on the morning after their first  
night together, and his heart was filled with reverence and with sorrow.  
  
***  
  
Anastasia came into work on Saturday. Julia did not.  
  
It began simply enough. He went to her work area to observe  
what she was doing. The ensuing discussion had lasted over three  
hours. Each time he pointed out something that could be wrong with  
her logic, she explained her answer. Her notes were neat,  
interspersed with terse comments from Julia. The two of them had  
been busy the entire week, and he hadn't even noticed. Not a good  
thing, he thought. He needed to take a more active role in the lab.  
  
She was going to need live subjects after all, but they would  
not be harmed. She'd seen to that.  
  
Anastasia joined him for dinner Saturday evening. He didn't  
dare take her anywhere close; he settled for a quaint little place  
on 63rd. They ate and drank and talked. Again he was amazed by  
her frankness. She spoke of her first marriage, pledged when she'd  
been far too young. His instinctive envy was lessened when she  
added she hadn't seen her ex-husband for ages. The mystery of her  
deepened.  
  
He walked her home, and when she invited him up to her  
apartment, he felt the precipice once more. His conscience  
whispered ~Julia,~ his mind ~Anastasia,~ his soul a name he did not  
know. Julia was in Pennsylvania, and his Lady had not once come to  
him in his waking hours.  
  
She tasted of apples, and mist, and worlds yet to be.  
  
  
  
They arrived together at work Monday morning. There was no  
help for it; he had not gone back to his apartment. They hadn't  
even gotten out of bed Sunday, save for the most basic of human  
needs. He had spent the day learning her, loving her, thinking  
only of her. The stark weekday morning shattered his fragile sense  
of eternity.  
  
The change was brought home as they walked into the front  
office, in Gladys' knowing face. In Julia's eyes, later in the  
day, he read the knowledge and the pain. She had her answer.  
  
Her resignation was on his desk on Friday. The official  
reason she gave was the declining health of her father and a desire  
to be closer to home. She refused to acknowledge any other reason,  
and he feared what would happen if he did. He wanted her to yell  
at him, to hit him and call him a bastard. He feared that she  
wouldn't, that she would continue to stare at him calmly, make him  
feel worse for her acceptance.  
  
As she walked to the door for the final time, he knew he  
should say something, but "I'm sorry" didn't begin to cover the  
depth of his regret, and "I love you" no longer applied.  
  
"Be well," he said. He never knew if she heard him.  
  
  
  
He presented the preliminary data a month later. Cyberbiotics  
was the smallest company attending the meeting. His former  
employers, Baxter Chemical, were also in attendance. He recognized  
several former coworkers, as well as his former boss. He hadn't  
seen any of them since he'd walked out, and only Anastasia's  
comforting presence kept him now from quaking. This was it. They  
would sink or swim with the results of this meeting.  
  
The day the decision was announced, the day he knew his company was  
going to live, he asked for Anastasia's hand. To his surprise, and  
perhaps to hers, she accepted.  
  
  
  
He opened his eyes, and knew himself to be dreaming again.   
She, the eternal She, crouched beside the opened window to his  
bedroom. Her candy-floss hair hung askew around her, was more  
lovely for its muss. With no surprise, he felt the absence of his  
new bride beside him. Of course Anastasia would not be here, not  
with Her so nearby.  
  
Did he dare sit up, call to her? No, that would shatter the  
dream. He could not face losing her so quickly. He remained where  
he lay on the bed, drinking in her sight with thirsty vision, dying  
for one verdant kiss from her luscious mouth.  
  
She did not seem to notice his torment. She stared out the  
window, her lips parting just enough to expel misty breath in the  
cold air. He realized that she was speaking in the quietest of  
tones. He heard another voice respond.  
  
"I'll never understand what you see in them."  
  
"Someday you will. I find them fascinating."  
  
"They cannot fly."  
  
"They build machines, heavier than air, which they use to fly."  
  
"Iron machines."  
  
"Some are, yes. They cannot communicate with their thoughts,  
so they use electricity to carry their words. They cannot heal  
with a touch, so they develop elixirs and potions that can, and  
meanwhile unlock the secrets of Nature Herself."  
  
"Nature doesn't like her petticoats lifted, especially by such  
fragile beings. Amaterasu lost thousands of her charges at  
Hiroshima in an eyeblink. Mortals *die*."  
  
"Do not forget your own heritage, Puck." A crystal quiet  
moment passed. "They are fragile, yes, and mean. They are short-  
lived, and many of them never see beyond their own noses. We are  
beautiful, and strong, and long-lived, and many of us never see  
beyond our own noses. In the brief span of a mortal life, they  
dream braver and love more deeply than any of our kind, because  
they do not have time for tricks or games. They strive to become  
like we are, not understanding that their perfection lies in their  
unyielding imperfections."  
  
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, he saw the  
impossible: a little man outside the window, floating. His hair  
was long and white, his face caught in a perpetual smirking grin.   
He seemed less a man and more an apparition brought on the chill  
night wind. He spoke to Her in as soft a voice as She to him.  
  
Anger, hot and proud, surged in Halcyon's gut. How dare this  
interloper, *anyone* break this time he had with the one great love of  
his life? How dare She meet with another? Wounded more than any cuckold  
catching his bride with a groomsman, he summoned all his strength, to  
uncoil and strike them both before she faded from him again, laughing in  
his fragmented dreams.  
  
"Do you love him, Lady?"  
  
The voice that inquired had nothing of jealousy in it, nor  
pain, nor treachery. It was not the question of a potential lover,  
come to steal Her away, nor of a former love, cast aside for other  
pleasures.  
  
She turned towards him, perhaps knowing he was listening. Her  
features melted (Anastasia?) fractured into a smile too young for  
Her aged green eyes. She was dressed in the same nightgown his  
wife had worn to bed, and the part of him who'd once thumbed  
through a psychology book hammered at him with hard guilt. He was  
married, to a wonderful, attractive, intelligent, and above all  
else, *real* woman. What could any dream offer him that Anastasia had  
not already given in surplus? And why did he strain to hear Her response  
anyway?  
  
"I do." Her head turned back to the man in the window,  
allowing him a view of her delicate neck. "I thought he was merely  
a means of furthering our plans. Instead, I have found him to be  
quite ... remarkable."  
  
"Our plans? Then you carry his child." There was worry  
there, and awe. "If You Know Who finds out, he'll kill you both."  
  
"When the time comes, he will come begging *my* favour. He  
will allow my daughter to live because it shall please me that he  
do so."  
  
A pause. "Daughter? But the prophecy ... "  
  
" ... is mine to interpret. She will be born on Lammas."  
  
"Yes, my Queen."  
  
If there was more talk, he did not hear it. He knew precisely  
where *this* dream was coming from in his subconscious. His mind  
had taken aspects of his life, in this case Anastasia's pregnancy,  
and put it in light of his obsession with a green woman who had  
appeared in his other sleeping thoughts. This made clear to  
himself, he rolled over and fell into a deeper sleep, and dreamt he  
was being chased by carnivorous ethyl groups.  
  
  
  
He reread the letter. There was a chance he'd mistaken  
something in it for something else. He doubted it. Julia had  
never been one to splurge on meaningless words. When she spoke,  
she used the exact minimum number of words required to explain  
precisely what she meant.  
  
The picture enclosed with the letter was in sharp, clear black  
and white. In the six month old face, he could already see Julia's  
eyes, his own nose and chin. Written on his face was the truth, as  
shameful as Julia's family would make it out to be.  
  
Dr. Renard:  
  
I should have written you sooner on this matter. I discovered my  
condition shortly before I received your wedding announcement. I  
believed myself capable of taking care of the problem without  
assistance. I was mistaken. I realize your own situation. As a  
courtesy to your wife, I am sending this directly to Cyberbiotics.   
You may tell her or not, as you wish. He and I do not require your  
time. I would prefer to raise him alone. There were some small  
complications with the birth, which necessitated two weeks' stay in  
the hospital for both of us. We are now in good health, but owe  
the State Line Regional Hospital five thousand one hundred  
thirty-seven dollars. I hope you and Anastasia are well.  
  
Sincerely,  
Julia  
  
  
He flipped the picture over. On the back, in Julia's neat  
handwriting, he read the name and birthdate.  
  
He asked Gladys to hold his calls.  
  
There were four roads before him. The first was a path he'd  
almost taken once, would have taken in another lifetime. He could  
still annul his marriage to Anastasia, persuade Julia to marry him  
after all. That would solve nothing, only exchange one child's  
happiness for the other's.  
  
He could go home now, tell his beautiful wife that he had a son,  
perhaps bring him into their lives. He could already see the  
disappointment in her eyes, accusations in the eyes of all the rest.  
He'd carry the shame with him, watch it grow beside him, mature into a  
man with questions he could not answer.  
  
He could throw away the letter and pretend it had never  
darkened his "In" box. He could spend the next thirty years  
hearing his conscience accuse him of the worst kind of cowardice.  
  
He settled on the second-worst kind. He opened his desk,  
pulled out his checkbook, and made out a check for six thousand  
dollars, payable to Julia Vogel.  
  
***  
  
He moved his chair through the wide corridors of Fortress 2,  
the measured tread of his aide-de-camp at one side, Janine's  
catlike tread silent to the other. She was scowling, as she often  
did when they were together.  
  
"You can still change your mind."  
  
"No," he replied, "I can't. This is where I belong. Where I  
need to be."  
  
She stared at him oddly for a moment, then returned to her  
gentle tirade. "It's not healthy for you to be alone all the  
time."  
  
"I assure you," Vogel's flat and icy voice cut through, "Mr.  
Renard is not alone."  
  
Her eyes flicked to him, annoyed. She didn't consider him  
company. What else she didn't consider him ...  
  
There had been many more checks after that first one, he  
remembered, watching the two of them now. The checks had covered  
doctors' visits, glasses, braces, clothing, and later, private  
schools. He had sent money for frills, found out much later that  
Julia had wisely invested it. She'd died of cancer, diagnosed too  
late to treat, and when he'd received the letter, he had grieved  
for all he'd never given her, a life, a family. He had invited  
Preston, a week out of college, to join his company as a junior  
executive. Except for one memorable slip, the boy had never  
faltered in his loyalty. And if he could not hold Janine to blame  
for it, how could he hope to blame Preston?  
  
"Daddy, I wish you'd reconsider."  
  
"My mind is made up, Janine. It always was."  
  
She sighed, and he knew he'd won, not just the argument, but  
the war. He would not go live with his daughter and his  
son-in-law. Yes, it meant not seeing his grandson as often as he  
wanted, but that was the kind of sacrifice he knew too well.  
  
Janine bent down to kiss him. "You're a stubborn old geezer  
and I love you."  
  
"Give Alexander a hug for me. And bring him by to visit. I  
want to see him before he's in kindergarten."  
  
She nodded and left him, with a final disapproving glance at  
Vogel. As soon as she was gone, they could take off. He spent the  
time watching his assistant while trying not to watch him. There  
was so much they never said, never spoke of, and so much they  
needed to say. He had too much of his mother's aloofness, too  
little passion, and it was Halcyon's own fault. Always his own  
fault. If he had another chance, he would try to make it right for  
both his children.  
  
It was a nice dream, to think he could bring them all together  
under the cover of his love. It was a dream, and no more. He  
couldn't change the past, nor did he even dare to think he might  
win back the love of the Fairy Queen.  
  
"'But waking, no such matter,'" he muttered.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Nothing. Let's get aloft." He moved to his position. Vogel  
moved to his own mirrored place and waited for the order.  
  
"Heading," he paused, "third star on the right."  
  
"Straight on until morning. Yes, sir."  
  
***  
The End  
***  



End file.
